What the Night has Brought
by HerenyaHope
Summary: Depictions of blood and violence and references to sexual themes, and mild angst. Skyhold is hit by a mysterious illness that has taken some of the Inquisition's finest. Now the Inquisitor and her remaining followers must discover the origin of the illness and find a cure, before loved ones and friends are consumed by their suffering. Pairings mentioned: Solvellan and Doribull
1. Night One: First Signs

**AUTHOR'S NOTE****: YUP ANOTHER NEW FIC! For those of you who are following my Homestuck fic, "Home is Where your Love is" I apologize for the extended wait. I've been dealing with school, writing my novel, as well as trying to curb my Dragon Age addiction and the fanfic ideas that it spawns XD**

**This was an idea I came up with out of the blue. It uses my Dalish mage Inquisitor, Nimwen.**

**I do not own Dragon Age, it belongs to Bioware.**

**Anywho, on with the story!**

* * *

**Night One: First Signs**

"Come now Solas don't be so stubborn!"

The elven apostate eyed the cup in his hand with mild distaste. A light steam wafted from the green liquid inside, carrying the herbal scent to his nose. He had been sitting at his desk in the centre of his rotunda, reading a passage from a scroll he recovered during a trip to the Storm Coast, when the Inquisitor came bounding in, and he suddenly found himself with a cup in his hand being served tea from what looked like a cooking pot. Nimwen plopped herself in the chair next to his (a new addition he brought in when the two had begun spending nights together pouring over old tomes and discussing magical theories) and demanded like an excited child that he try the drink.

"You are aware of my dislike for tea, lethallan," he said, trying not to offend her.

"But you haven't tried this tea! It's an old Dalish recipe the Keeper used to make all the time. I even got the herbs from the Dales."

"Tea meddles with my sleep," Solas explained.

Nimwen rolled her eyes.

"Surely you can spend one night without talking with spirits?"

Solas was about to once again politely decline once more, but made the mistake of looking up at the Inquisitor. Despite being a calm and wise woman more mature than her age would suspect, Nimwen could still be childish when it suited her. She pouted, yes _pouted_, at her fellow mage, giving him a puppy-dog stare that was only intensified by her large elven eyes. Solas knew that he was already trapped, but when his beloved went so far as to let out a "Pleeeeeeease?" that would melt the heart of a Pride Demon, the elf had no choice but to admit defeat.

"Very well," he sighed with the hint of a smile.

Nimwen grinned, leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek, and then poured herself a cup. They toasted their beverages and the Inquisitor forced herself to control her excitement as she watched Solas tentatively take a sip of the tea. The bald man blew on the cup before bringing it to his lips.

The proud smile that had adorned her lips twisted into an offended scowl when Solas immediately spat the liquid out.

"Solas! You are so rude!" Nimwen gasped, her cheeks reddening with anger. How dare Solas do such a thing, after she spent all that time brewing the drink, hoping she and her lover could enjoy something from her people. As if to prove his point, Solas began coughing, pounding on his chest, much to Nimwen's further irritation.

"I get it, you hate it. I won't make you drink it again, alright?" she snapped, pouring the rest of her tea back into the pot.

Solas did not stop coughing, and her anger faded to confusion when he clutched at his chest.

"Solas?"

He did not answer her, and she grew worried.

"Solas what's wrong?"

Her eyes widened when he attempted to stand, but ended up slipping from his chair to the ground.

"Solas?!" she rushed to his side and grabbed his shoulders. He looked up at her with wide eyes, those of a mad animal, as the colour began draining from his face. He still clawed at his chest and throat, croaking out choked noises where words should have been.

"Solas what's wrong?!"

Horrified, she watched as he began to cough up blood, his coughs dissolving into wheezes.

"Solas!"

Holding her lover close, the scared leader of the Inquisitor did the only thing she knew to do.

"SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!"

* * *

"No way!"

"One hundred percent true, my dear."

"And she actually told you this herself?"

"Straight from the horse's mouth, as it were."

Josephine and Vivienne erupted into giggles, the Antivan continuing to look at the court enchantress with awed disbelief.

"I had no knowledge of the duke and duchess being so...unconventional," admitted Josephine.

Vivienne shrugged, taking a sip of her wine.

"Strong drink and a failing marriage will loosen up anyone's tongue, dear."

"But truthfully, a _whip_?"

Vivienne's plump lips smirked around the rim of her wine glass.

"And apparently a stick of butter is involved as well."

The two women giggled again, clinking their glasses together. From the start the two women had come to be good friends, both sharing a fondness for finery and good court gossip that went over most of the others in the Inquisition, and enjoyed the company of somebody who could remind them of their lives before the chaos that brought them here. They sat in Josephine's office, during one of the few times the Ambassador allowed herself a break, sharing a bottle of an Orleasian wine Vivienne brought in hopes of getting the diplomat to unwind.

As Josephine refilled her drink, deciding to treat herself with a second glass, she suddenly remembered a story she had been meaning to tell the mage.

"Oh Vivienne, did I ever tell you about the time when Lord Oswald was in Antivan and he-"

Josephine jumped at the sound of glass breaking. Her eyes found the shattered remains of Vivienne's glass scattered across the carpet, as well as the large red stain now on the woman's pant leg. The Antivan expected Vivienne to start going off at one of her finest outfits being ruined by wine, but the black woman's was silent, frozen in a look of surprise.

"Lady Vivienne-?" Josephine gasped when the enchantress began to convulse, strangled coughs erupting from her lips.

"Vivienne?!" Josephine jumped from her chair and she tried catching the other woman before she slipped to the ground.

"Guards!" the Ambassador yelled. She ripped open the clasps holding together the high collar of Vivienne's outfit, hoping that would help her breathe. It did nothing, and Josephine watched as the mage's dark skin grew ashen, and ribbons of ruby began falling from her mouth. Her chest heaved with laboured breaths and she gripped Josephine's hand so hard the Antivan was sure it was going to break.

"Maker's breath!" she cried when Vivienne continued to cough up blood. The mage's face was filled with panic that looked so foreign on the usually confident woman. The guards came bursting into the room.

Josephine looked up at them with fear and tears in her eyes.

"Send for a healer!" the Ambassador cried.

* * *

Iron Bull felt pleased with himself. He'd finally convinced Dorian to spend the night with him in the Qunari's quarters instead of the mage's. Dorian insisted that somebody of his status did not sleep on the scratchy-cotton-and-worn-out-spring-filled disaster that was Iron Bull's bed, but after an...extensive session between the sheets, the Tevinter lacked the energy to make the walk back to his own quarters and bed, and conceded to spending the night in Bull's room. The Qunari did not try to hide his smug amusement at seeing the Tevinter complain about Bull's cheap sheets and only_ one_ pillow, to which Dorian responded with a slap on the shoulder that felt like a mosquito bite to the larger man. Bull lay half asleep on his back, as that was the only way he could sleep due to his horns, with Dorian curled at his side. The mage's head rested on Bull's chest and his arm was slung over the Qunari's large torso. Iron Bull had one of his arms wrapped around his lover's waist, his large hand absentmindedly stroking up and down the Tevinter's side.

As much as he enjoyed sex with the man, Iron Bull found that nights like this, with the normally energized and fiery mage at peace against him, his moustache tickling the Qunari's skin and hearing the night-time mumbling that Dorian denied he did, brought him more satisfaction than their carnal activities. He shifted on the bed, pulling Dorian a bit closer as he did so. As he moved, he felt the Tevinter tense against him, and suddenly the heat of the human against him disappeared as he jumped up from the bed.

"What are you doing?" Iron Bull mumbled sleepily. He heard the sound of Dorian retching, and the Qunari groaned.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he growled, sitting up. He was not looking forward to the smell of vomit that was going to start any moment now.

"You didn't even have that much wine!"

His one eye looked at his lover and he became fully awake. Dorian was looking down at his fingers, spattered in the blood he had just coughed up, before slowly looking up at Bull with shock filled eyes.

"What the-" Bull didn't get to finish before Dorian tensed and began coughing violently.

"Dorian!" Bull ran to his lover's side as the coughs shook his entire frame.

"B-Bull-" the mage gripped the Qunari's bicep, the other hand latched around his throat in a vain attempt to stop the blood coming from his lips.

"C-can't...b-b-breathe…"

"Shit." Tevinter's olive skin grew paler and he began desperately trying to suck in air. Bull scooped up Dorian in his arms and made a sprint for the door. He cared not that he, as well as Dorian, were technically still nude. The spasming mage in his arms was the Bull's only concern as he ran to the front room of the tavern.

* * *

"So you see kid, that's the difference between Ferelden and Dwarven ales."

"I see." Cole still looked at the mug in his hands with the look of a quizzical puppy, much to Varric and Blackwall's amusement. The sounds of drunken merriment associated with Skyhold's tavern warmed the air as Blackwall, Varric, and Cole sat at their table, the two men spending the past five minutes trying to convince the spirit boy to try the alcoholic beverage. Cole took a drink, and the Warden and Dwarf erupted into laughter at the look of startled disgust on the boy's face.

"It's wet...but it burns," the blond said with surprise and dislike. Varric clapped the boy's shoulder.

"That's called alcohol, kid," said the dwarf.

"I don't like it," Cole said, glaring at the mug.

Blackwall guffawed.

"Nobody likes it," the bearded man said, taking a swig of his drink.

"If they don't like it, why drink it?" Cole asked, sincerely puzzled.

"They don't drink it for the taste," Varric smirked. "They drink it to get shit-faced."

"Burns in my throat, but feels warm in my gut, the pain in my heart is fading, but it isn't gone. Warms eyes, perfect lips smirking as she plays with my hair... 'nother drink, that's what I need. Drown this swill until I forget what she looks like…"

"Yeah kid, let's tone down the mind-reading thing okay?" Varric sighed, taking another drink and hoping the ale would dull the sting of Cole's quoting of one of his darker memories.

A shout caught people's attention, and all eyes turned when a naked Iron Bull came charging into the main room carrying an equally naked Dorian.

"Andraste's tits Bull, what the hell are you-?" Varric paused when the Qunari man looked up, and all the dwarf could see in Bull's eyes was pure fear.

"Someone get a healer!" he yelled desperately. The sight of a bloody Dorian had many people in a tizzy, including Blackwall and Varric. The Warden ran to Bull's side to help, Varric following. Somebody gasping behind him caught Varric's ear, and when he turned around he saw numerous people staring at Cole.

The spirit boy dabbed at the blood dripping from his lips, bringing his bloody finger to his confused eyes.

"I'm...bleeding." Cole was eerily calm as he showed Varric the blood on his finger as proof.

"Kid what's-" Varric's heart dropped when Cole's eyes widened and his knees gave out. Varric yelled out as the rogue crumpled to the floor, saved only by a tavern-goer who managed to catch the boy before he hit the wooden floor.

Varric ran to his side, dread increasing when blood started pooling from the blonde's lips at an increasing pace.

"Get a goddamned healer!" Varric snapped at nobody in particular. He removed the spirit's hat, pushing back his shaggy hair and forcing the boy to look at him.

"Kid, kid listen, can you hear me?"

Wild shallow blue eyes followed the sound of Varric's voice.

"V-v-var...v-varri…"

"It's alright, kid. I'm here," the dwarf tried his best to keep his calm front up, but he had a feeling Cole could already sense his distress. Cole's shallow breaths turned to full hyperventilation interrupted by wet horrid coughs that made Varric wince at their painful sounds.

"You need to relax, focus on me," Varric ordered. Cole's eyes darted to and fro with blind terror, as if hoping to find the antidote to his suffering. Tears pearled in the corners of his eyes and Varric felt his heart leaden.

"H-hurts," Cole whimpered.

"I-I know, kid. But don't worry, we'll fix it." Varric smiled hollowly, more for himself than Cole. In the background he could hear people yelling, scrambling around, and a sorrow-filled cry that couldn't have come from Iron Bull, could it?

Varric jumped at the frightened keening noise bubbling from Cole's throat. He started clawing at his neck, a sight even more terrifying given that the bottom half of his face was covered in blood.

"Kid stop it! Cole!" the dwarf grabbed the spirit's hands and tried wrenching them away from his neck.

"M-make...stop!" Cole sobbed pitifully.

"Where's the fucking healer?!" Varric screamed.

What little voice Cole had left dissolved into choked gurgles and wheezes. Cole spat up blood again and a spatter hit Varric on the cheek. The dwarf wanted to look away, but the desperate, agonized eyes of the spirit locked his gaze.

"H-h-help...me…"

"I can't," Varric whispered.

Vaguely Varric thought he heard Iron Bull screaming Dorian's name, but his attention was taken when Cole's eyes suddenly rolled back and the dwarf cried the boy's name when he went limp in his arms.

Chaos took the night with the sound of frantic voices and rushing bodies. From different corners of the keep, from different people, there was but one question that hung ominously over everyone's head like a noose.

What is going on?!

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ****DUNDUNDUUUUUUUUU!**

**Well ain't that a way to start a story. So what do you guys think? Should I continue this? I kinda want to :3**

**FAVS FOLLOWS AND REVIEWS ARE WELL APPRECIATED!**


	2. Night One: Stabilize

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ****FORGIVE MY LATENESS! I am so sorry for taking so long to update, but I have had a lot on my plate.**

**Shout outs to mythlover20, Ickypicky892**

**Not much else to say, just that I'm working out some of the kinks in the plot. To be honest, I kinda didn't have a lot of the mystery elements in this fic plotted out, but now I do and I think it'll be good ^w^**

**Anywho, on with the story!**

Not since the destruction of Haven had the Inquisition's people experienced a night of chaos such as this. It was a night filled with people scattering around looking out for anyone else afflicted with whatever malignity has found its way into the keep, and everyone else in a state of panic believing the man next to him was infected and about to pass it on.

While that was happening, the inside of the keep was an even greater cesspool of fear and dread. A quarantine area was established in one of the many spare guest quarters meant for visiting nobles; it would have been foolish to put the affected in the infirmary where there were wounded soldiers and ill servants, and they needed a large room. The head healers, the apothecaries, and a handful of mages who were well versed in healing magic, gathered in the room, trying to find out what the illness was while keeping their patients alive at the same time.

By the time dawn came, no other cases had been discovered and the realization that this was no epidemic came as a relief to the people of Skyhold. However, that did little to comfort the group waiting outside the treatment room. The remaining members of the Inner Circle camped by the door, some in "borrowed" chairs, some parked on the floor, and some standing.

The door had not opened since the team of healers sealed themselves inside, and despite their pleads, demands, and threats, the Inner Circle had yet to receive any updates. All were greatly concerned for their friends fighting for their lives, but it was obvious who was affected the most.

Nimwen sat hunched in her chair, elbows on her knees with her chin resting on her knuckles. Her usually tidy hair was a mess of black tresses, and her red-rimmed eyes were accentuated even more by her anxiety-pale face. She picked absentmindedly at the white bandages that were wrapped around her fingers. Earlier, as the waiting got longer and longer, the Inquisitor had started to bite her nails. She only became aware of this when Cassandra snatched her hand away from her lips, and that was when she realized she'd chewed her nails down to bloody nubs.

Now her bound fingertips stung something fierce, but that was nothing compared to the painful vice gripping her chest. She still wore the bloody clothes the guards had found her in, and despite everyone's pleading, she did not go to her quarters to change. In fact, she had not spoken at all since the others were taken into the room. She would have been the first to try and keep everyone calm, giving comforting words and embraces, and so her behaviour, verging on catatonia, was beginning to worry the others.

While her suffering had been mostly silent, the Iron Bull was on the opposite spectrum. He'd been pacing back and forth in front of the door, a fearsome scowl on his face as he growled to himself like a rabid beast. As time passed he became more and more unsettled, and refused to sit down when the others encouraged him to. Every few minutes he would bang on the door demanding to be told what was going on, and three times he threatened to break the door down. Once more Cassandra had to step in and, with the help of Blackwall's muscle and Josephine's pleading, managed to calm the Bull enough to, at the very least, keep him from smashing the wooden door down with his bare hands.

The Seeker tried to be the voice of reason, but the burden of keeping an emotionally distraught group of Thedas' most dangerous fighters in relative order was not an easy task. Tempers kept flaring, the smallest things provoking arguments, and even passing on blame actually occurred; not to mention the matter of making sure that the silent of the group were not succumbing to shock or dark thoughts. By the time hints of the sun were coming into the sky, everyone was silent. The effort to remain angry became too much, pointing fingers of blame became pointless, and the Circle's worry and anguish were now stewing together like the most miserable of soups.

Cassandra sat with her back against the wall, trying to fight off sleep. Twice she almost nodded off, but each time she snapped her head up and rubbed her eyes, ordering herself to stay awake. Her eyes glanced over the Inner Circle. Josephine was the only advisor present, the other two busy investigating and maintaining order. The Ambassador and Sera, of all people, shared the seat of a windowed alcove, and had actually ended up asleep leaning against each other. In hindsight, the image was rather amusing. Josephine was at a diagonal lean, her cheek pressed against the stone wall of the alcove, and Sera mimicked the same position, except that in her case the wall was actually the body of the sleeping Antivan woman.

Blackwall was propped up against the wall, a small block of wood and a knife in his hand. For most of the night his face was scrunched up in concentration as he chipped away at the wood, trying to distract himself from his emotions, but after a while he too succumbed to sleep, block and knife still clutched in his hands. Cassandra looked down the hall. In the shadow beyond the dim torchlight, she saw the imposing figure of the Iron Bull facing the wall. From the occasional 'thuds' that would sound out, the Nevarran woman could tell the Qunari man had been hitting the wall with his fist. She was just grateful it was not the door, or somebody else.

The Seeker looked at the Inquisitor, and was relieved to find that she had finally fallen asleep. Cassandra was not used to seeing the usually cool and rational elf in such a state. It had almost frightened her, seeing the Dalish woman covered in blood screaming like a madwoman when the medics were forced to tear Solas away from her. Cassandra had to grab her about the waist to prevent her from chasing after the healers, and the struggle the tiny elf had put up matched that of a rabid wolf. Still, it seemed that even the world of dreams was not providing much comfort for Nimwen, judging by the scowl on her sleeping face, and the occasional distressed noise that would come out of her lips.

Cassandra was surprised when a blanket was suddenly draped over the Inquisitor. The Seeker looked up and saw that it was Varric who did it. She didn't even realize the dwarf had left, and yet here he was smoothing the fur blanket over the elf's hunched frame. He murmured something in her ear, and whatever it was seemed to iron out some of the worry on Nimwen's face. Cassandra observed silently as Varric then took another blanket and wrapped it around the shoulders of Josephine and Sera, who in their sleep subconsciously snuggled into the blanket's warmth. Cassandra's eyes followed him as he sat back down where he had been when she last saw him. The dwarven man seemed to sense he was being watched and looked up at the Seeker.

"Sorry, couldn't find you one," he said with a smirk. The expression was hollow.

"That was kind of you," Cassandra said quietly to avoid waking anyone. Varric shrugged dismissively. He glanced down the hallway.

"How's Tiny?" he whispered. Another 'thud' echoed from down the hall.

"On his way to getting broken knuckles," Cassandra replied. Varric sighed, running a hand through his auburn hair.

"And here I thought we could go one night without shit hitting the fan," he said as he picked up something beside him. Cassandra realized that the thing the dwarf was messing was a hat, Cole's hat.

The Seeker quirked a brow.

"Why do you have that?"

Varric made a snort.

"You know how the kid feels about this," he said, turning the wide brimmed hat around in his hands.

"If someone so much as takes it from his head he acts like he's been caught without his smalls," the dwarf chuckled to himself.

"He'll want it when he wakes up."

The Nevarran woman's gaze softened.

_"__**If**__ he wakes up,"_ Cassandra knew that was more accurate, but the fact hung in the air between them, remaining unsaid for the small hope that this all would turn out differently.

The sound of creaking wood brought everyone to attention. Those sleeping awkwardly tried to collect themselves from their sleeping forms, and everyone else straightened themselves up to try to hide their exhaustion and worry. Seven pairs of eyes watched with rapt attention as Fiona came out. Everyone noticed the blood on the Grand Enchantress' gloves and apron, but they waited as she removed the scarf that had been tied around her mouth and nose.

"Well?" asked Cassandra. The tired mage eyed them all.

"We've managed to stabilize them," she answered. Sighs of relief rang out, but they were short lived.

"However they are not out of the woods yet," Fiona added.

"What's wrong with them?" asked Josephine.

"We don't know," the elf admitted

"That's it?!" Sera objected.

"You and your pals spend all that time doin' your healy stuff and your magicy stuff and you don't even know what the frig it is?"

The enchantress squinted her eyes in irritation.

"We searched for any causes, but we were unable to find any source of the bleeding or the seizures. There were no bruises, no internal bleeding, and we were unable to find any signs of poison or magic."

"So this is an illness?" Cassandra asked.

"Like I said, my Lady, we have no idea. If it is a sickness, it is one I have not come across before."

"But you said they were fine, right?" Iron Bull prodded.

Fiona's eyes turned grave.

"As I said before, we managed to stop the bleeding, for now at least, but that is not the biggest problem."

"Andraste's tits, what is worse than spewing out blood?" Varric snapped.

With a sigh Fiona removed one of her gloves and smoothed out her hair.

"At first we believed it was the blood that was causing them to choke, but even after we stabilized the bleeding, they continued to have trouble breathing. We've tried to find a cause, but there are no obstructions in their throats, and there seems to be nothing in their lungs. They simply are unable to take in enough air."

"So tell us what is happening now." Nimwen pleaded.

"We've got them on potions and have casted spells that are assisting their breathing, but I fear that this will not last long. Without knowing what ails them, these treatments are only temporary solutions."

"What can we do?" the Inquisitor asked. Fiona looked at her fellow elf with sympathy.

"My colleagues will continue searching for long term treatments to keep them alive, however the only real solution is if this affliction is identified and a cure is discovered, and discovered fast."

"What will happen if a cure cannot be found in time?" inquired Cassandra.

The Grand Enchantress began to speak, but hesitated. Gathering herself, it was apparent that the mage had to force the truth from her lips.

"What is happening to them now, it is not unlike being smothered. Right now we are forcing them to take in the proper amount of air, for they are unable to do it on their own. If we are unable to find a cure, what will most likely happen is that overtime our treatments will fail to work, and they shall slowly suffocate."

A strangled gasp forced itself from Nimwen's lips before she forced herself back into silence. Josephine placed a comforting hand on the elf's shoulder, not that she noticed.

"I am sorry, Lady Inquisitor." said Fiona.

"May we see them?" asked the Dalish woman. Fiona looked conflicted.

"I am afraid not, your Worship. We are still unsure whether or not this is contagious, and we cannot afford to spread it-"

"For fuck's sake, we were all there when it happened!" yelled Iron Bull.

"If it was going to affect us we'd all be on the ground covered in blood, so let us in!"

Fiona flinched against the Qunari's rage, but the elven woman remained firm.

"I am sorry, but we cannot take the risk. As soon as we confirm that this isn't contagious, we shall let you inside."

"Fiona is right," said Cassandra.

"I am going to my study to collect some tomes," Fiona said.

"Hopefully I can find out if these symptoms are akin to something we have in our knowledge."

"Very well," Cassandra said. The mage took a bow, and the group parted to allow the elf to stride down the hall.

"For now," Cassandra began.

"We must decide how we should go about investigating this. Everyone meet in the war room."

Everyone was tired and in need of a good night's sleep, but duty and the urge to help their friends had the tired group shuffling numbly to the large doors of the war room.

As they gathered around the wooden table, Josephine excused herself.

"It is vital that word of this incident does not spread or grow out of proportion, and I must work to ensure that rumours are contained and that we remain in control," the Antivan explained.

Once she left the room fell into silence. They waited for Nimwen to start talking, as she was the one who usually led meetings such as these, but the Dalish woman was quiet.

"Inquisitor," Cassandra said to the mage. Nimwen looked up at the Nevarran with tired blue eyes.

"We need to find a starting point if we are to get to the bottom of this."

"Well why the fuck are you asking me?! I don't fucking know!" Nimwen snapped. The sudden hostility, and profanity, from the ever gentle elf had everyone startled more than if Coryphaeus were to suddenly burst in and started dancing the Marigold. At the sight of her surprised companions, the anger in the Inquisitor's eyes quickly turned to regret.

"I-I'm so sorry, Cassandra," she apologized to the warrior.

"I didn't mean to-it-it's just that…" The Dalish woman stopped when her voice began to catch. Silently Varric put an arm around her in a side hug, and she looked down at the dwarf with appreciation.

"You idiots, it's obvious what we need to figure out."

Everyone turned to Sera.

"Well let's hear it, Buttercup," said Varric.

The yellow haired elf rolled her eyes like she was talking to ignorant children.

"Look here's how it is: see, if a bunch of people get punched, and you don't know who did it or why they did it, or why those people were the ones to get punched, you don't start looking for the puncher, you ask why all the punchees got punched."

"That...actually makes sense, sorta," Varric agreed.

"We need to start by figuring out what they had in common that made them targets."

"Anyone else think that it's one hell of a coincidence that all of the Inner Circle's mages were attacked?" asked Blackwall.

"But what about me?" interjected Nimwen.

"I'm a mage and I'm fine. Also, regardless of who was attacked, if whoever is responsible was able to get close enough to attack Solas, Dorian, and the others, why did they not just go for me directly? It seems if they could get to them, they could have just as easily gotten to me."

"That is a good point," said Cassandra.

"And as for your theory, Blackwall," she said to the Warden.

"It is a good idea, but not only was the Inquisitor, a mage, left unharmed, but Cole was attacked as well, and he is no mage."

"Yeah well, it's still a demon thingy. Ya know, mages, demons, kinda similar," said Sera.

"That's another thing," Varric came in.

"How in hell's name did they manage to affect him as well? I know the kid's more human now, but up until now I didn't think he could get sick."

"That is why I think that this cannot be a natural affliction," Nimwen said.

"Magic?" asked Iron Bull.

"Maybe, but Fiona and her people should have been able to tell if magic was involved." The Inquisitor yawned and rubbed her eyes, trying to stimulate them to remain open.

"I think we rest, and convene later," said Cassandra, noting the shadows under almost all their eyes.

"Are you kidding me?" Iron Bull growled.

"You heard what Fiona said, they don't have any time to spare, and we need to get our asses in gear!"

"Well our "asses" are useless to them if we cannot stay awake," Cassandra retorted, staring Iron Bull down firmly.

"I too wish to get started, but our minds need to be sharp. In the meantime, Leliana already has her people in every corner gathering information, so time will not be wasted while we rest."

There was little room for argument, despite many still feeling like they should be doing something.

The Inner Circle adjourned and retired to their respective quarters. Despite their fatigue, sleep did not come easy, and dreams were plagued by the shadows of fear and blood.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ****…**

**To be honest, I'm too tired to write an author's note =_=**

**FAVS FOLLOWS AND REVIEWS ARE MOST APPRECIATED!**


	3. Day One: Contagious

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ****I'M NOT DEAD!**

**Hey so I am so sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I've had the worst case of writer's block and procrastination, not to mention I've had to spread out my creative juju across four stories ^^; But, here it is, and I promise to make more of an effort to update more frequently.**

**SHOUT-OUT TO: ****koolcat400, krislea15, Flamewing80, Darkness is where I thrive, fleagirl125, maggied1985 and everyone else who have been so awesome and supportive of this story!**

**Any who, on with the story~!**

* * *

Fiona was startled awake by a hand shaking her shoulder. In a daze, Grand Enchanter snapped to attention, and almost head-butted the startled mage, who managed to jump out of the way just in time.

"G-grand Enchanter!" the girl squeaked.

"Wh-what?" the elven woman slurred as she tried shaking herself out her sleepy stupor.

"Grand Enchanter, you, uh fell asleep," the girl stuttered.

"Oh." Fiona arched her back, trying to work out the kinks caused by sleeping in the stiff chair.

"You should sleep in your bed, ma'am, that can't be good for you," the other mage said meekly.

"No, no, it's fine, Tristessa," said the elven woman. Fiona rubbed the sleep from her eyes and took in the appearance of her underling. The girl was still young, having only just completed her Harrowing before the rebellion began, and despite being human she was almost as short as Fiona. She was a mousy thing, with a freckled face, wide blue eyes and wavy auburn hair tied back in a sloppy bun. Fiona noted the exhaustion on the girl's face, the bags under her eyes and the way she slouched on her feet.

"You should rest, Tristessa," said Fiona.

"N-no I'm fine," said the mage even as she yawned. "The others are resting right now, and I offered to stay and monitor the patients."

"What are their conditions, by the way?" Fiona asked.

Tristessa glanced over to the four beds on the far end of the room.

"Stable," said the mage, eyeing the invalids with part pity, part anxiety.

"Did anything progress while I was asleep?"

"We still are doing what we can to treat them, but there is some good news."

"What is it?" asked Fiona.

"We are pretty sure this is not contagious."

"Really? How do you know?"

"There have been no other cases reported, even with those who had direct contact with the afflicted, and Clair accidentally came back in from the privy without her mask, and even hours later has not developed any symptoms."

Fiona let out a breath of relief.

"Thank the Maker," she said. Though their situation was still bleak, the knowledge that they no longer had to worry about an epidemic peeled off a thin layer of the Grand Enchanter's worries.

She stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her robes, and made her way over to the beds. Fiona did her best to remain clinical and detached, as any professional knew to do, but it was hard given the severity of these circumstances, as well as her relations to the patients. Each of them was still as a corpse, and only the tiny rise and fall of their chests, and the wheezing sound of their breaths were tells that they still lived. The floor under each bed glowed faintly from the wards placed there to send magic to help them breathe. These wards had to be re-casted every hour, and judging by the glow being stronger than when she saw it last, the wards had been re-casted while she slept.

"There was trouble with Lady Vivienne earlier," said Tristessa. Fiona turned to the other mage.

"What trouble?" she asked with concern.

"Th-there were issues when we were re-casting her ward. Her own mana was interfering with the energy transfer. We were able to fix it before there was injury, but I still felt like I should inform you in case it happens again."

"Very good, thank you my dear."

Fiona looked down at one of the beds and chuckled hollowly.

"Oh Vivienne," she said sadly to the woman. "You always have to try and outdo everyone with your magic, don't you?"

Though they did not always get along, it brought Fiona no satisfaction at seeing Vivienne reduced to such a state. Her warm chocolate skin was dull and greyed, and she looked like she had aged a decade. The makeup that seemed like a permanent part of her face had long since been wiped away, and she lay wearing a simple infirmary gown, so unworthy of being on a Lady like Vivienne, who seemed to survive only in the finest silks and robes. Occasionally a choked wheeze would escape the enchantress' lips, and her chest would shudder.

Fiona looked solemnly over the others as well.

Though he was from Tevinter, Dorian had proved to be a charming acquaintance, and of course had helped Fiona be free of Alexius. Like Vivienne, seeing the man, who was normally such a force of personality and confidence that was impossible to ignore, so subdued and weak made him look almost like a completely different person. She didn't know Solas very well, but he was kind enough to her, and the two elves occasionally exchanged words in the library. From what she could tell, he was a gentle intelligent man, and her heart went out to the Inquisitor.

Finally her eyes glanced to the last of the four beds. She had the strangest feeling that she had met the boy before, but she couldn't recall where or when. Regardless, she couldn't look at him without her heart clenching. For reasons they couldn't tell, the boy, Cole she remembered his name being, was in the worst condition.

The other three all bore the same symptoms; pale sickly complexions, cold skin, lack of movement aside from the occasional coughing fit, but for the most part they acted as though they were in a deep sleep. Cole however, was another case entirely. He did have the pale skin, or at least paler than his usual complexion, he had the coughs, and he remained unconscious. But unlike the others there were shadows under his eyes dark as bruises, his breaths came out in constant pained wheezes and pants, the opposite of the others who were mostly quiet. He was far too skinny for Fiona's liking, and she feared that he would be even worse off if they could not find a way to give him nutrients. He looked like a wraith, a skeleton of a person, and if Fiona had to guess, he would be the first to fall to this sickness.

The tiniest of whimpers came from him, pained and pitiful, and Fiona had to swallow back her emotions. She'd always had the protective instincts of a mother bear, and children were her worst weakness. Though she knew he was no child, he looked so small in that bed and it hurt her to see someone young going through such a horrible ordeal. She brushed some of his shaggy hair out of his face, murmuring to him in a comforting voice as he rode through this bout of pain. His face gravitated towards her hand, unconsciously pressing his cheek into her palm. Fiona felt the burning sweaty skin under her hand and sighed.

"Is there we can do for the fever?" asked Tristessa.

Fiona sighed.

"We've been giving him elfroot potions along with the other medicine, but nothing's working,"

"And he's the only one with a fever." She added.

"What does that mean?" Tristessa asked.

"I don't know," admitted the enchanter.

There was a knock at the door and both women looked up.

"I'll get it," said Fiona.

"You can freshen the cloth on his head."

"Alright," Tristessa nodded.

Fiona made her way over to the door, the clicking of her shoes echoing off the stone floor as walked. She cracked the door and was surprised by who she saw.

"Inquisitor?"

The Dalish woman stood in the doorway, hunched like the weight of the world rested upon her. Fiona noticed the shadows under her eyes, and knew that if she had managed to catch a bit of sleep at all, it was not peaceful. Fiona was surprised to find that the Inquisitor was not wearing her signature colours, since the Dalish woman was known for her fascination with the colour blue. Instead, she wore a rather a baggy green tunic that looked too big on her, and appeared to be meant for a man.

"Morning Fiona," the Inquisitor said tiredly. "I know you said no visitors, but I just wanted to check in-"

"Actually my Lady there is news."

Nimwen perked up.

"What, what is it?" she asked, her eyes a mix of both hope and worry,

"We no longer believe that this is contagious."

"Truly? Does this mean that there can be visitors?"

"Yes visitation will be allowed, however, they must be short and-"

"Please let me in!"

"Please my Lady, be calm," Fiona urged, trying to keep Nimwen from busting down the door.

"You may come in, but I must warn you, while they are stable, their appearances may startle you."

"I'll be fine, Fiona," said the Inquisitor. Despite her words, Fiona still hesitated to let the Dalish woman in. Still, she knew better than to refuse the request of the Inquisitor, and let the woman inside, praying to herself that the other elf was able to keep it together.

Tristessa, who had been tending to her patients, jumped to attention at the sight of the Inquisitor.

"My lady!" the girl squeaked, trying desperately to make herself look presentable. The Dalish woman gave the young mage a reassuring smile.

"It's alright you can relax. I'm not the Empress of Orlais after all," she said with a laugh.

"R-right, forgive me milady," Tristessa stuttered. Nimwen glanced over to the far side of the room, where the four beds stood. She looked back at Fiona, and the grand enchanter gave her a small nod. Fiona watched with dread as the Dalish woman approached the beds. She felt a knot in her throat watching Nimwen struggle to maintain her composure as she looked over her fallen friends.

Her already stiff frame tensed further when she forced herself to look upon Solas. The sight of her ill lover made her brow furrow and forced her to bite her lip. She slumped down into the chair next to the elf's bed, her wintery eyes heavy.

"Are they in pain?" asked Nimwen quietly.

"We're doing everything we can for them," Fiona answered. She purposefully avoided a direct answer. She was uncertain whether they were aware of what was happening to them, but if Cole was any indication, if they were aware, they would most definitely be suffering.

The Dalish woman reached over and gently took hold of her lover's hand. She entwined her thin fingers with Solas' much longer ones, rubbing her thumb over the top of his hand.

"What is that?" Nimwen asked.

"What do you mean?" replied Fiona.

"That." Nimwen pointed to the pale green paste that covered most of Solas' neck and chest.

"It's on all of them," the Dalish woman noted.

"It's a salve that helps them breathe," Fiona explained. "It's made from herbs that have a strong odour, and the vapours help stimulate the lungs and keep the airways open."

"I've never heard of such a thing," said Nimwen.

'Well, you have her to thank for it," said the enchantress, gesturing to Tristessa. The young mage jumped when the Inquisitor's eyes were suddenly on her.

"You invented this?" asked Nimwen.

"I-I uh, y-yes, your Worship. Before I c-came to the Circle I lived in a mining town. A lot of the miners d-developed breathing problems due to the dust in the mines. I wanted to find a way to help them, and I thought of this when one day I had a cold and when dealing with certain herbs it uh, made my nose clear up."

"That's amazing," said Nimwen. Tristessa bowed her head bashfully.

"N-not really. I-I mean this is a bit more than what the salve was intended for, a bit like putting a bandage on a beheading."

"Regardless, this seems to be helping, and so I am eternally grateful," Nimwen said sincerely.

Tristessa blushed.

"Th-thank you," she replied.

Nimwen looked down at Solas.

"Fiona, if it's not too much to ask…"

"Say no more," the mage replied. She gestured to Tristessa, and the other mage silently understood. The two women excused themselves from the chambers, allowing the Inquisitor privacy.

Nimwen held Solas' thin hand tighter, hoping to bring warmth to his chilled flesh. It wasn't right for him to feel so cold. He usually had a pleasant warmness to his skin, a stark contrast to her always cold hands. He joked that her skills with frost magic was the reason her hands were always cold, and she started to think it was true. Now she wished she had been a fire mage, if not to just warm his icy fingers.

"You're going to be alright," she whispered to Solas.

"You can be so patient and gentle, but I know that under that you are as stubborn as a Druffalo, and that you won't let a sickness keep you down."

His eyes remained closed, his face remained unchanging. Still, she kept talking.

"Remember when you got that cold after we were in the Fallow Mire? You had to be the worst patient I've ever met. You refused to stay in bed and kept tripping over everything."

Nimwen laughed, trying to make the noise meaningful.

"And when your fever picked up you started spouting nonsense. You told Cole that he looked a carrot and insisted that Cullen had two heads."

She laughed again.

"I still remember when you started howling and said that you were Fen'Harel, and that's when I _knew_ you were out of it."

She felt her throat tighten.

"Please wake up, ma vhenan," she whispered as she blinked back tears.

"I need my silly wolf here with me."

She stroked her fingers along his cheekbone, wishing that her touch would bring colour back to his sickly coloured skin. She thought she saw his eyes twitch, but still he remained asleep. She gingerly cupped his face in her hands.

"I will save you, my love. All of you," she swore. She kissed his forehead, and sent a prayer to the Creators, pleading with them to keep her love and her friends safe while she found out who did this to them.

The private moment was invaded by a groan that startled Nimwen. She whipped around and stared as another one of the sounds came from Cole.

"Cole?" She rose from her seat and crouched by the spirit boy's bed. His brow was wrinkled as he whimpered in his sleep. She shushed the boy and held his trembling hand, hoping her presence could help in some way. As he began to convulse his throat bobbed, and with a gurgling noise he coughed up a trail of blood that leaked from his lips.

"Cole?!" Panicked, Nimwen looked to the door.

"Fiona!" she shouted.

The enchantress rushed into the room with Tristessa on her heels.

"What is it?"

"He-he's bleeding!" Nimwen cried.

"Oh dear. Tristessa get a rag." Fiona knelt down beside the Inquisitor and held her shoulders.

"Relax, my lady," said Fiona as she guided the anxious Dalish away.

"Relax?! But he's-"

"We know," Fiona interrupted. "We stopped the heavy profuse blood flow, but they still bleed occasionally. It is minor and not a threat to their life."

"Fiona, the magister is bleeding as well," Tristessa said as she dabbed the blood from Cole's lips. Nimwen looked over and her heart clenched when she saw blood trickling from Dorian's nose. Fiona hummed in acknowledgment as she grabbed another clean rag.

"Alright, allow me to-"

"I'm doing it."

Fiona was startled when Nimwen grabbed the rag from her hands and knelt beside the Tevinter mage.

"Your Worship there no need for you-"

"I said I'm doing it," said the other elf.

"Oh Creators, it's getting in his moustache," she said as she wiped away the blood.

"And there's blood dried in it! Didn't you make sure to keep his moustache clean?" she whipped around to glare at the other elf.

"Well I-"

"Get some hot water so I can clean this!" Nimwen snapped at the Grand Enchanter.

"He'll have a fit if he wakes up and sees…" the Dalish woman hunched her shoulders.

"He-he'll be so mad when he sees…"

The Inquisitor's voice was choked and she took a shuddering breath. Fiona watched with sympathy as the Dalish woman stopped her cleaning to stroke the Tevinter man's wavy hair. Nimwen stood up all of a sudden.

"I can't let them die," said Nimwen. She turned around to look at Fiona. Her wintery eyes were glassy.

"I _can't _let them die, do you understand?"

"Of course," Fiona replied.

"Everyone is working to get to the bottom of this, but I fear there aren't any leads so far…"

The mage bowed her head as her shoulders shook.

"W-what if I can't save them in time? What if-"

"Inquisitor." Fiona knelt in front of the other mage and grasped her shoulders.

"You mustn't doubt yourself. You have accomplished more feats than all of us combined. You shall find the one responsible for this and you will bring them to justice."

Nimwen looked into the Grand Enchanter's eyes and saw the confidence and sincerity behind her words.

"Y-you're right," the elf nodded.

"Yes, you're right. I mustn't give up now. They need me to be strong. Thank you."

Nimwen stood up.

"I-I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," she murmured.

"It's quite alright, your Worship," Fiona said gently.

"I-I need to go check on progress, to see if anything has developed."

The Inquisitor turned to leave, but not before taking another look at her four companions.

"Please, make sure you-"

"We will do everything we can for them," Fiona promised

Nimwen nodded.

"Thank you," she murmured.

When the Dalish woman left the room Fiona let out a tired sigh.

"G-grand Enchanter?"

The elven woman turned around to look at her subordinate.

"Yes Tristessa?" she asked the girl.

"Do you really think that they will be able to find a cure in time?"

Fiona rubbed her eyes.

"By the Maker I hope so," she sighed.

"Now come," she said to the girl.

"We need to continue with treatment."

"I shall rouse the others and prepare more salve, as well as re-cast the wards."

"Thank you, Tristessa," said Fiona.

"You have been such a help. You're the one who truly made all of this happen."

The girl smiled sheepishly.

"Thank you, Grand Enchanter, it was my pleasure."


	4. Day One: Looking for Leads

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: LOOK WHO HASN'T GIVEN UP ON THIS FIC!**

**Hello lovelies, yes I have decided to work more on this fic. I actually wanted to give the credit of reviving my inspiration for this fic to Lazyvulcan. Their lovely review and enthusiasm made me want to get back into this fic, and actually gave me the muse juice to fill in the plot blanks that was making it hard for me to continue, so thank you very much Lazyvulcan, you the real MVP!**

**SHOUT-OUTS GO OUT TO: KMSaum Sirius123, Ravynna Frost, Camilla-Elin, Ashley425, psychoticfriend, raised-sherlock-from-perdition, Lazyvulcan, and all the other lovelies who have faved, followed, and supported this fic!**

* * *

"I hope you all managed to get some sleep," Cassandra said as she took a seat.

It was obvious the opposite had occurred. If any of them had any semblance of rest, it didn't show in their faces. The advisors and the Inner Circle were gathered in the War Room, ready to start the first official meeting of the investigation. There was hardly anyone there who wasn't struggling to keep their eyes opened, but after handing out coffee and tea, courtesy of Josephine, they were a bit more prepared for the task at hand.

"Let's start from the top," Nimwen suggested. She cupped her tea in her hands, the light minty scent tickling the noses of those closest. There were still shadows under her eyes, but at least she was no longer in the catatonic state she'd been in the night before. "We should get a bearing on where everyone was before this all started."

"Dorian was with me most of the day." Iron Bull said. "I don't know what he did this morning, some library crap I think, but then in the afternoon he was with me and the Chargers in the training yard, even taught Dalish a few 'vint mag- _archery _techniques."

Nimwen rolled her eyes. "Right, archery." Dalish's abilities were hardly a secret to anyone in Skyhold, but Nimwen found it endearing that the Iron Bull still kept up the facade. She wondered whether it was to try and hide her magic, or if it was now just an inside joke.

"Yeah, then we went to the tavern, had some drinks, and then we were asleep when he started...bleeding." A shadowed look passed over the Qunari's face.

"While we were in my office, Vivienne said she'd spent most of the day coordinating messages with her colleagues amongst the loyalist mages," Josephine stated.

"Solas was with me almost the entire day," Nimwen said. "We were looking over some of the artifacts from Dirthamen's Temple, but then I had to leave for our meeting," she said to the advisors. "Then I came back with tea, and then…"

"It was hard to come up with Cole's whereabouts during the day," said Leliana. "Even without the ability to be invisible he is still quite adept at remaining hidden, and nobody knows for sure where he'd been yesterday."

"Yeah, Hero and I didn't even find the Kid 'til we were in the tavern," Varric sighed. "He was there maybe a half an hour before the shit started."

"I'll try and get more information on Cole's activities, and then I'll map out all their itineraries to find overlaps," Leliana said.

"Alright," Nimwen said. "I think this will do. Cullen I want you to coordinate with the guards to look for any breach in security."

"Yes, your Worship."

"Josephine, do your best to keep this from getting out."

"Very well."

"As for the rest of you, for now there isn't much for you to do. We're fighters, not detectives."

Bull coughed.

"Well, aside from Bull," Nimwen corrected. She stood up. "Just keep your eyes and ears open. Meeting adjourned."

As everyone left, Cassandra stopped Nimwen.

"I would like to check something out," the Seeker said.

"Alright, what is it?"

"Walk with me."

The two women began walking out of the War Room and down the hall.

"Where are we going?" Nimwen asked.

"The kitchens."

Nimwen raised a brow. "Why?"

"The best place for poison to be is in the kitchen, wouldn't you agree?"

"But I thought Fiona said her people couldn't find any trace of poison." Nimwen replied.

"You would be surprised how many poisons are able to go undetected." Cassandra sighed. "It's a stretch, but I think it's our best bet."

Nimwen didn't want to question Fiona's expertise, and trusted the Grand Enchantress knew what to do. Still, she hated feeling helpless, and was willing to investigate any avenue if it meant saving her friends. "Okay."

They walked through the Great Hall towards the kitchens. The late morning crowd in the hall was less noisy than it usually was. The servants flittered to and fro in mostly silence, and the guards on break were not as rowdy. Their quiet made Nimwen feel uneasy, and every in every mutter she caught she thought she heard whisper of the strange illness within Skyhold. She wished they would carry on as normal, if only to help her believe she had things under control.

When they entered the kitchens they were hit by the heat of the hearths and the amalgamated scents of all the food cooking. The two scullions on hand bowed at the Inquisitor's entrance, and she gave them a nod as she and Cassandra approached the head cook.

"Excuse me, Miss Donatien?" Nimwen asked.

The elf jumped at the sudden _slam _that pierced the air.

Donatien turned around, still holding the large cleaver that had just cut through a large slab of meat. The human woman was ancient, but still had eyes sharp as her knives and hands strong enough to wield a cleaver like a warrior. Her papery skin was wrinkled and browned from decades of working near fires and around hot food, and had hands covered in scars and calluses; she could have been mistaken for a blacksmith. "What do you want?" the woman's rickety voice, asked irritation clear.

"I'm sure you're aware of the incident that occurred last night," Cassandra said.

"Aye I know, caused a right ruckus that did. Thought Corypheus himself had descended," Donatien griped. She wiped the cleaver's blade with her apron, her talon-like hands removing the blood and bits of flesh that clung to it.

"We're trying to find some leads," Nimwen explained. It seemed every time she had to deal with the cook, Donatien always had one of her cutting utensils in hand. She understood why her staff feared the old woman.

"Lead?" Donatien narrowed her grey eyes. "And you think one's in my kitchen?"

"Is there any chance somebody could have come in here and tampered with any of the food?" Cassandra asked, seemingly not intimidated by the cook.

"Like hell there is! I know everything that happens in this kitchen Seeker, _everything. _Not a pinch of sugar gets spilled without me knowing whose hand gets slapped for it."

"I'm not doubting that, ma'am," Nimwen assured her, slightly nervous. Even though the head cook was ranks and ranks below the _Inquisitor_, not to mention it was likely a stiff wind could take out the elderly woman, as soon as Nimwen entered the kitchen she felt Donatien practically absorb all her authority, through supernatural means the elf was certain, and left Nimwen feeling like a slab of meat to be hacked at the human's whim. Also she was certain if Donatien did die, she'd just haunt the kitchen forever. "Can you take us through last night, though? Do you remember anything strange happening?"

"You were in here last night, your Worship, did _you _see anything?" Donatien retorted. She put the cleaver back with the rest of the knives hanging on the wall. "Aside from having to scold one of my new girls for mistaking sugar for salt, it was just another night preparing food for the keep."

"Who has access to this area?" Cassandra asked.

"Aside from that blasted elf, and that blond boy with the ridiculous hat always stealing my things," Donatien growled, smoothing the flyaway hairs coming out of her tired bun. "The only ones with access to the kitchens are myself, my people, and sometimes that Horty girl."

"Why does this Horty only come in sometimes? Is she not one of your scullions?" asked Cassandra.

Donatien scoffed. "Maker no, that fool could burn water. No she's not one of my scullions. Horty came a while ago looking for a job, but she's clumsier than a druffalo and can't cook worth a damn, so I just have her sweep the floor, take care of the trash, deliver things, that sort of work."

"If she does deliveries, than she might know whether someone tried to sneak something in," Cassandra whispered to Nimwen.

Nimwen nodded. "Donatien, do you know where we might find Horty?"

"I don't know what she does outside this kitchen, nor have I ever really cared," the cook replied.

"U-um, you Worship?" one of the scullions spoke up.

"Yes?" Nimwen asked.

The elven girl wrung her hands shyly. "I think I remember her saying something about cats once."

"Cats?" Cassandra repeated.

"Crazy girl is always muttering to herself, but can barely make words when I'm talking to her," Donatien remarked.

'_I wonder why,' _Nimwen thought to herself. She turned to the servant. "Thank you, that was helpful," she said with a smile.

The girl blushed. "Y-you're welcome, your Worship."

"'Right then, will there be anything else? I have a kitchen to run," Donatien cut in.

Nimwen gulped. "No, no, that's fine."

"Your help has been appreciated," Cassandra added.

"Just get this whole thing sorted out. Worried scullions means distracted brains, which leads to fumbling hands, and I can't stand messes in my kitchen."

"We'll get right on it," Nimwen said with a nervous smile.

Leaving the kitchen with Cassandra felt like Nimwen had just escaped a dragon's lair. She let out a sigh of relief.

"The way she speaks, you'd think _she_ was the Inquisitor," Cassandra mused.

"Remind me again why don't we just have _her_ fight Corypheus?"

"I think that battle would end the world."

Nimwen chuckled. "Probably. Whenever I talk to her it feels like I'm back with my clan, being scolded by Keeper Deshanna for nodding off during a lesson, granted the Keeper had a lot less knives lying around."

"I'm sure. Now, where should we look for this Horty?" Cassandra asked.

"Donatien mentioned cats, and I think Blackwall said there are cats in the stables," Nimwen said.

They made the walk down the stairs to the lower courtyard where the stables sat. As they got closer Nimwen could see Master Dennet tending to one of the horses.

"Master Dennet," Nimwen called out to the human.

The dark human looked up from his work. "Inquisitor, how are you?"

"I'm good, considering…"

"Ah yes, I heard, I send my prayers to your comrades, your Worship."

"Thank you, Dennet."

"Now, what can I do for you?"

"Is there a girl named Horty here?" Cassandra asked.

"Ah yes, she back there feeding the cats," the stable master responded, pointing to the back of the barn.

"Thank you," Dennet," Nimwen said.

They left the human man and made their way to the back of the barn.

"I think that's her," Nimwen whispered to Cassandra.

There was a young woman surrounded by cats. She carried a small basket and took out what looked like bits of meat and handed them to the cats that pawed at her skirts.

"You are Horty?" Cassandra asked.

The girl squeaked, startled, which sent her basket to the ground and the cats scurrying. "Who are-" She turned around but froze upon seeing the Seeker and Inquisitor. She was a human who looked to be Nimwen's age, maybe a year younger. She was an average looking girl, not one who would turn heads, with small eyes and a face brown with freckles and dirt. She had frizzy brown hair that would have looked like a puffball if not for the white kerchief around her head.

"Are you Horty?" Nimwen asked gently. She noticed how nervous the girl seemed.

"I-I um...yes," the human stuttered. She had a small, nasally voice that fit her mousy appearance.

"We need to ask you a few questions," said the Seeker.

Horty's eyes widened. "I-I didn't do n-nothin'!" she insisted. "I-I'm 'llowed to feed the c-cats, M-master Dennet and S-S-Ser Blackwall said I could-"

"Relax, relax," Nimwen soothed. "We aren't here about the cats. We heard you deliver things sometimes to the kitchens, we just want to know if you remember anything suspicious last night."

"I...n-no I don't think so," Horty murmured. She twisted her hands in the skirts of her green dress. "It was dinner time, so the kitchens were real busy milady. If s-something did happen I didn't see. 'cept..."

"What?" Cassandra asked.

The girl squeaked again. "It-it wasn't much, really. I just re-remember Miss Dona yellin' at one of the girls, but she do that all the time. I just 'member her sayin' she was gonna chop the girl's hair off and make rope from it. Then I started thinkin' how much rope could her hair actually make, I mean, I couldn't tell since she had it pulled up-" Horty's eyes widened. "I-I'm sorry I'm ramblin'. Oh, I'm w-wastin' your time. Stupid, stupid…" The girl began muttering to herself.

"It's alright, Horty, you aren't wasting it," Nimwen assured the girl. "But just to be clear, if somebody wanted to get something into the kitchen, is there any way to do that besides you?"

"W-well I suppose, but n-not really," Horty said. "Miss Dona don't like too many people in the kitchen, so she don't like people 'sides me bringing stuff in, and she don't like me too much I think."

Cassandra sighed. "Perhaps we should look elsewhere."

"Maybe," Nimwen replied. She turned to Horty. "Thank you for your time, it was appreciated."

"I-I, yes of course ma'am," Horty replied. "A-anything for you, your Worship."

"Come, let's go," Cassandra said.

She and Nimwen turned to leave.

"W-wait!"

They paused and turned back around.

Horty looked like a deer that spotted a hunter. "W-was that out of line? O-oh forgive me miladies, I shouldn't be ordering you t-to wait-"

"What is it?" Cassandra interrupted.

Horty stopped her muttering, and Nimwen could see her struggling with her words. "I-I was wonderin'..." She played with her apron. "Th-they say one of the ones sick is C-Cole, that right?"

Nimwen raised a brow. "You know him?" she asked. She knew servants could see Cole now, but she didn't think any of them knew him by name yet. Cole had never mentioned this girl either.

Horty nodded. "C-c-could y-you m-maybe...give him this?" She pulled out a simple, clean white handkerchief. There were varying stitch lines in different colors. "M-my granny always say this supposed to have good luck in it. H-he's always helpin' m-me, and is nice. s-so I just thought…"

"I'll make sure he gets it," Nimwen said gently, taking the handkerchief from Horty.

Horty blushed. "Oh, bless you, your Worship," she thanked with a bow.

"We had best get going," Cassandra said.

"Right, good day to you, Horty," Nimwen said to the servant.

"Y-your Worship?"

"Yes?"

"Cole...h-he's gonna be okay, r-right?"

Nimwen tensed. Her mind went back to earlier that morning. She remembered his burning skin, his deathly pallor, the horrible noise he made as he coughed up blood...

Nimwen forced herself to smile. "He's going to pull through this, they all are. I promise." She sounded so comforting and assured. She almost convinced herself.

A small smile appeared on Horty's lips. "Thank you."

As the duo walked away from the barn and towards the stairs, Nimwen's smile fell. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Cassandra asked.

Nimwen sighed. "I made her a promise, I just hope I can keep it."

"You're going to. We will find whatever is responsible and we will help them."

"This is different than our fight with Corypheus, at least with him we know who we're fighting. The enemy has a face. The enemy is _inside _them, and we don't even know what it is, let alone how it got there."

"And that is why we are going to keep searching until we get our answers."

Nimwen ran a hand through her hair. "I hope you're right."

"You shouldn't lose hope just yet, one of us has to be an optimist," Cassandra said.

"And it has to be me?"

"Who else, myself?"

Nimwen snorted. "Don't doubt yourself; you're the one who's able to put all her faith in a Dalish mage to save the world, there has to be some optimism in there somewhere."

"Not optimism, confidence," Cassandra said with a smile.

"Inquisitor, Seeker Cassandra."

The two women stopped and looked ahead to see one of the castle guards approaching them.

"What is it?" Nimwen asked him.

"Your presence is requested in the dungeons."

"The dungeons, what for?" asked Cassandra.

"Commander Cullen asked for you. He believes he's found a spy."


End file.
